


No taxi-ation without representation

by AnnaBolena



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caleb is bi in this for once, M/M, Oblivious gay revolutionaries, Sackett sass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-04-28 18:25:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14455143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaBolena/pseuds/AnnaBolena
Summary: Caleb's considerable driving skills save Ben's day from turning into a major disaster.a.k.a. the taxi-AU that literally no one asked for lol





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone request this? No.  
> Am I still going to force it on you? Maybe.  
> Is it any good? Unlikely.

From the second that Ben wakes up the day has turned to shit in his head. It starts with the fact that his coffee machine breaks, lukewarm coffee exploding over his face. Ben hops in the shower again and stubs his toe, loses his balance and only avoids an embarrassing death by grabbing on to the bar he installed not a week ago.

 _Ah, foresight, the most loathed antagonist of misfortune_ , he can practically hear Mr. Sackett’s voice in his head, imagines the older man peering over the rim of his small glasses pointedly. He showers in a hurry and tries not to get too caught up on the fact that he is twenty-two years old and manages to get shampoo in his eyes. Good Lord, that burns.

Then he gets dressed in a hurry, realizes belatedly that he is wearing mismatched socks, sprints out of the door without grabbing breakfast and hurries outside just to witness the last bus he can take to work that would arrive on time leave mere seconds before he reaches it. He’ll be late for sure, he frets, and then he will never hear the end of it from Sackett, who not only manages to be consistently on time, but also consistently earlier than Benjamin, no matter how early Ben wakes up.

_"You live in the building, Sackett, is that it?" Ben asked him one morning when he came in at precisely 6:02 AM to find Mr. Sackett perusing several documents of seemingly high importance as if he had been at it for hours. Ben himself was sweating, trying to catch his breath. He so desperately wanted to get to work before Sackett, just once, to witness the comical drop of the older man’s jaw. Ben bribed Mary, Sackett's kind secretary and wife to his work friend Abraham Woodhull, to glean an idea of what time Mr. Sackett usually got into work. Six AM was the reluctant answer and Ben thanked Mary with flowers the next morning, even if his plans came to naught it was fun watching Abraham fuss about who was sending his wife the flowers. "Just try finding out where I live, Mr. Tallmadge," Sackett hadn’t looked up, instead narrowing his eyes at an apparent discrepancy within two reports. "Is that a dare?" "It’s a challenge," Sackett had grinned comically wide, before motioning for Benjamin to get to work._

Somehow he manages to hail a cab at this ungodly hour. Rubbing his hands and wishing he had thought to throw on something warmer than his suit jacket, Benjamin gratefully slides into the opened door. "Good morning," a chipper if slightly garbled accent greets him, "Where are we off to at this hour?"

"1600 Pennsylvania Avenue," Ben relays automatically before remembering that technically strangers aren’t supposed to know exactly where he works. Even if he thinks Sackett's instructions are often the results of extreme paranoia, he does intend to follow them, for the most part. Some of them are just ludicrous. Ben would never even consider letting Sackett vet his one-night-stands, sparse though they may be. It wouldn't be a very time-consuming addition to Sackett's job, to say the least. 

The cab driver raises an eyebrow, and when Ben turns to ask why he isn’t driving yet because Ben is late, he gets his first look of him. Unshaven and insane, is the first thought that pops into his head. This man is at least some years older than him, laughter lines beginning to show around warm brown eyes. Absurdly handsome, is his second thought.

"That’s the white house, isn’t it?" He makes conversation as he begins driving, "What are you doing there at this time?"

"I have a plan to assassinate the president," Ben mutters darkly, already considering how much trouble he’ll be in if he is late. Any other day, Ben doesn’t strictly have work hours. He can come and go as he chooses. But today is the first day Sackett invited him to join in on his meeting with George Washington himself. He can’t miss it. "So you see, time is of the essence," he looks at his driver pointedly.

The man has the audacity to laugh, leaving Ben to wonder if he needs to work on his acting. How does he ever expect to take over for Sackett if he can’t even convince a taxi driver there is truth in his half-hearted lies? Truly, he tries not to let today's already plentiful failures dampen his mood too greatly, but he cannot help it. 

"Alright then," the man responds, pushing the speed limits and perhaps ignoring some of the precise colors of traffic lights. "But I feel obliged to let you know that, as a good patriot, I think I’ll be turning you in to the police once I drop you off," he jokes, looking sideways at Ben.

"Why wait until you’ve dropped me off?" Ben wants to know, mood slightly elevated by his driver’s jests.

"Gotta get paid first," he grins widely, "Money upfront and then I’ll sell you out to make some more on the side." Ben laughs a little, despite the remaining air of anxiety at his imminent tardiness. But it almost looks like this cab driver is about to turn a twenty minute trip into something closer to twelve. Ben might yet be on time.

"And what are you going to tell the police to sell me out?" He enquires, enjoying this hypothetical situation. He takes some time to look around the cab, well-kept and adorned furnished with a few personal touches that practically scream activist. The driver gives him a once over. "Handsome young man with stunning blue eyes in a suit that I could never afford unless they pay informants really well these days," he retorts and too late Ben realizes that this man is teasing him. It could be flirting, but Ben caught a glance of his phone earlier, where a suggestive text from someone named Anna popped up, so he dismisses that option as unlikely. Ben is trained to notice things. Sackett often reminds him of a madman, preaching constant vigilance like his father used to preach abstinence and godliness. 

When he checks the time again, Ben is relieved to find that he will likely be just on time. 

"There we are," the taxi driver announces when the white house comes into view minutes ahead of schedule. "Thank you," Ben exhales loudly, "This day was about to be a major disaster." 

"Looks like we demoted it to just lieutenant disaster, eh?" He grins and Ben bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing because, really, that joke is terrible. The Cabbie grins, reaching across Ben’s chest to open the door for him, a perfect show of gallantry. Ben hops out, gives the driver thrice what he is owed and tells him to keep the change. Cab driver guy raises one eyebrow and asks, "Is this supposed to buy my silence?"

Ben raises his eyebrows expectantly and the guy dismisses it. "Best of luck on your errand then, I expect I’ll be hearing about it on the news." With a saucy little wink closes the door and drives off, leaving Ben staring after him for longer than he should, considering his timeframe. 

He catches up to Sackett as his superior is on his way to the most fabled room in the house. "Ah, Benjamin," Sackett greets him happily, "You made it. Hold these." Unceremoniously he shoves a heavy stack of dossiers into his hands. 

Only during the meeting does Benjamin realize with a start that he never asked the cab driver for his name.

 

+

"Good morning, Mary," he tells the woman as he sets down a cup of tea in front of her desk. "You remembered how I like it," she hums happily as she takes the first sip. "Well, I have to make sure the next generation is properly cared for. That includes what fluids go into their mother," Ben smiles, watching Mary rub her growing belly affectionately. 

"I sense there is another reason you're here, Ben," she leans forward conspiratorially. "How did the meeting with the big guy go?"

"As much of a disappointment as expected," Ben snorts into his coffee, "Sackett didn't bother introducing me but it sure was nice to stare in awe as he presented today's conspiracies."

"How rude of him not to introduce you," Mary shakes her head, sipping tea all the while. 

"Honestly I think he just forgot. Sackett probably didn't mean any harm by it."

"Rumor has it he is planning to retire once he is satisfied with your progress," Mary raises one eyebrow, asking Ben for confirmation, who laughs heartily. "The day Sackett admits to being satisfied with my work is the day the world comes off it's axis."

"Give yourself some credit," Mary chastises. She often urges Ben to be less self-deprecating. "You single-handedly defeated the chaos monster in his office. I can't tell you how much easier the paperwork process has gotten."

"That's me," Ben muses, "The valiant paperwork-knight."

Ben's eyes watch as Charles Lee crosses Mary's desk, nodding curtly. But what catches his attention isn't the old, somewhat ridiculous looking man that waltzes past them. Instead Ben's eyes are drawn to a young man walking behind him. The man stares back, holding eye contact admirably until Ben turns away, suddenly nervous. Mary shows no such coyness, leaning across her desk and observing unabashedly. When Ben gives her a look she raises one eyebrow. 

"Pregnancy hormones," she explains with a wink, "Terrible things. The sex drive, Ben, it's-" She stops to break out into laughter when Ben makes a somewhat disgusted face. 

+

Three weeks later Ben is out drinking with Abraham and _the_ guy from work, William Bradford, who Abe insisted on introducing to him because, _he’s also, you know, like you._ Abe had whispered and garnered nothing but a terse look from Ben. It looks like Mary delved into research immediately after that chance encounter in the hallway. 

Surprisingly, despite his admittedly haughty manners, conversation flows easily with Bradford though they disagree on more topics than they agree, arguing back and forth hotly as Abe watches them with glee in his eyes.

"What exactly do you do for Mr. Sackett, Tallmadge?" Bradford asks eventually, stirring the cucumber in his Gin Tonic around with his straw, forcibly nonchalant. By god, he is handsome, the way his eyes narrow just a little bit when he poses questions. 

"And don’t say it’s classified, because I’ve already told you about my actual day job," he teases. Bradford is a well-known social media liaison for the CIA under Charles Lee, as it turns out, business that often leaves him lounging around the oval office as his superior opines on the presidents questions inside. Ben has seen him quite often now and has raked his eyes over his long form appreciatively. William Bradford is an incredibly gorgeous man, just Ben’s type and _taller_. For Ben, who towers just below Six foot two inches, meeting a man who is both taller than him and obviously interested is a once in a lifetime thing. Bradford must be closer to Six foot four, he muses as he watches his date for the night stir his drink. 

 

_Their previous conversations have been quite limited. One time Bradford had strolled into Sackett's office while the latter was on a rare break and asked for a report for Lee which Ben was only too eager to hand over. "Shouldn't you at least ask me for my name before you hand over documents of such importance," Bradford had leaned over the desk, smirking a little. "I've seen you around," Ben had dismissed, "Following at Lee's heel."_

_"In that case," Bradford had seemed a little put out, as he grabbed the stack of papers and excused himself. Afterwards Ben spent the rest of his day trying to kick his own butt for not asking and initiating an actual conversation. When Bradford had entered he had been too immersed in analyzing a recent piece of intelligence that reached their ears just that day._

_Another time Bradford had almost dozed him over in the hallway with an aggressively fast-pace, leaving Ben's coffee spilled on the floor. "I feel bad," he had said, "Take mine." Before Ben could protest the man had pressed his coffee into his hands. "It's still fresh."_

_"Or," Ben had taken a deep breath, "We could get me a new one together."_

_Bradford had smiled, for a second it had looked almost predatorily. "Well, I've got to run for now, but I'll be sure to take you up on that offer whenever Lee calls me here again."_

_If Ben had looked disappointed, it was only for a second before Bradford had scoffed. "Shouldn't be long, I think, the man is a mess when it comes to PR." A large, tan hand extended, he had introduced himself. "William Bradford."_

_"Benjamin Tallmadge."_

_They managed to have half a coffee, a week later, before Lee came bursting into the room, demanding Bradford's presence immediately. Bradford had given a charming version of an eye roll and excused himself. The next time they spoke Bradford informed him that a colleague of his, a certain Abraham Woodhull, had hinted at drinks. Ben had agreed immediately._

"Well you know what Sackett does," he raises an eyebrow as he tries not to give too much away, "I’m just there to make sure the workload doesn’t unman him. For now."

"Oh, for now?" Bradford enquires further, smiling a little deviously. "There may have been talk of an imminent promotion to be formally called into employ by Mr. Sackett’s actual employer." Ben shrugs, innocently. 

Bradford lets out a low whistle. "At your age? Damn, Tallmadge, that’s impressive." "Well so is your record," he deflects, "Straight from Harvard into the big house? And now you’re what, twenty-six and Charles Lee’s go-to guy?"

"Looked up my file, did you?" Bradford muses as he takes a sip, holding eye contact with Ben, who blushes just a little. "Fair is fair, Tallmadge, I looked into yours as well. You know how it is when those straights try to set you up."

Finally, a topic the two of them can heartily agree on. 

Several drinks later Abe decides to leave and because he lives close-by he asks Ben to split a cab-ride. "For the environment," he says, speech a little slurred. Bradford smirks and moves to say goodbye to Ben, who realizes quite keenly just how long ago his last tryst was. Induced by alcohol to temporarily forget that hooking up with your co-worker isn’t the best idea, he leans forward to whisper into Bradford’s ear. "Would you like to come along?"

The smirk on his face is confirmation enough so Abe begins to signal for a cab excitedly.

Abe takes shotgun and Bradford holds the door open for Ben chivalrously. Once Abe gets his address sorted, the cab driver casts a worried glance towards the intoxicated men in the back. "Oh don’t worry, man, Ben here is too polite to even consider throwing up in someone else’s car," Abe pats the cab driver’s arm reassuringly.

"Right, that’s your job, Abe, I remember," Ben laughs, leans forward to whisper conspiratorially, "He’s the one you should be worried about, sir." The cab driver chooses that moment to turn his face and Ben recognizes their driver with a happy grin. Brown eyes widen for a second and then he smiles. "You again," he laughs, "Didn’t hear anything about your coup on TV, I assume it fell through?"

"Definitely because you gave me up," Ben points a mildly accusing finger at the driver, who laughs loudly.

"I did no such thing. Turns out I can be persuaded to silence, with the right monetary incentive." He runs a distracted hand over his head, pushing a beanie he wasn’t wearing the last time to sit better on his unruly hair. "Looks nice," Ben tells him earnestly before he feels Bradford’s hand pull him back into the seat and wrestle his seatbelt on. Perhaps Ben shouldn't have had quite so much to drink, but really he still feels fine. 

Ben thinks he can catch the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror a couple of times as Abe relentlessly spills his entire life story. Somewhere between Mary's pregnancy and his issues with his overbearing father, Ben stops listening. 

Bradford’s hand, meanwhile, has begun to explore Ben’s thigh curiously. Feeling a bit light-headed, Ben closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, offering his neck to someone silently promising to be a generous lover. Bradford's lips are soft, as carefully cared for as the rest of him. And he does have the appearance of putting a great deal of effort into his looks. It pays off, sure, but Ben starts thinking about roughing him up a little and it excites him. Will Bradford have such perfect hair in the morning, he wonders? Ben’s eyes fly open abruptly when the cab comes to a screeching halt in front of Abe’s house.

He meets the driver’s eyes in the mirror again, cheeks suddenly aflame when he realizes that the Cab driver is well-aware of just what Bradford’s hand is doing between his legs. "Where off to for you gents?" To Ben's unending shame, there is a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

Bradford shrugs, looking at Ben. "Where’s your place at, pretty boy?" Ben remembers his address, thankfully, and when the man drops him off Ben realizes that Abe’s definition of splitting a cab-fare means splitting 100-0.

"Sorry for your troubles, uh-" he has the money ready to hand over, stopping short when he realizes he is about to forego asking for the driver’s name again. "Caleb," the man supplies helpfully. Benjamin smiles widely.

"I’m Ben." He wants to apologize. He wants to tell Caleb that he doesn't usually let his dates grope him in the backseat of a cab where everyone can see. _If you knew me_ , Ben wants to say, _you would know that I am deeply embarrassed at showing any signs of physical intimacy in public. You see, Caleb, it's a product of my very closeted childhood. Do you know my father still doesn't know I'm gay? I'm not even sure if my brother knows, to be honest._

But he doesn't say it because Caleb is staring at him and Ben is not Abe. Caleb definitely doesn't want to hear it. 

"I know," Caleb smiles back, before looking past him. "Better hurry, Ben, your boyfriend is getting impatient."

Ben looks over his shoulder just as Caleb drives off into the night, gone as quickly as the first time. 

Bradford holds true to what his lips promised his neck and proves to be very respectable at what Mr. Sackett euphemistically calls the horizontal tango. It's a flurry of hands and sweat and exactly what Ben needs. Afterwards they stare at the ceiling together, until Bradford breaks the silence, voice a little strained and hoarse. 

"If you give me a few minutes you can even have an encore," he pats Ben's chest. 

"Ambitious, are we?"

"Very," Bradford grins as he rolls over to kiss Ben again. 

Ben manages to fall asleep relaxed for once, not plagued by thoughts that will not stop running, but somehow he wakes up with the name Caleb embedded into memory more firmly than Bradford’s.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Ben opens his eyes in an empty bed, sunlight blinding him temporarily. The sheets beside him are still warm, although that could be the work of that hellishly bright ball in the sky. If Bradford left, he left recently. But there are sounds coming from the kitchen and Ben is torn between relief and anxiety. He wouldn't want Bradford to read too much into last night. 

Even if Sackett somehow lessened his work load to make a relationship possible, Ben knows he could never take a man home to meet his father. 

(Only after five full minutes of debating in his head does Ben consider the fact that he may be reading too much into the fact that Bradford is in his kitchen.)

He gets up, throws on a fresh pair of underwear and his favorite blue hoodie for good measure. Ben slinks into the kitchen to observe William Bradford in nothing but his beautiful " _Derek Rose pure silk boxers, Tallmadge_ ". Ben had ample opportunity to get acquainted with the soft italian silk last night, much to both their delight. "Hey," Ben clears his throat, watching Bradford's hair sway as he looks over his shoulder. Somehow he manages to keep pouring coffee without spilling it. Perhaps this man is a wizard, Ben muses, if he managed to get the machine that has been frustrating Ben for months now to obey him. "Thank God it's a sunday, right?" 

"Not for much longer, I think," Bradford chuckles. It is a pleasant sound, reminding Ben of the noises he made last night. He never expected the rather proud looking man to be capable of such intense volume and frequency. Nodding towards his phone he continues, "Lee called me half an hour ago."

"So that is what that infernal noise was," Ben nods as he watches Bradford's throat bob when he takes his first sip. There are a few marks on Bradford, and for a second he wonders if in his eagerness he might have overdone it. Certainly his back isn't bloody, but there are one or two or ten red nails marks. He hasn't complained. When he catches Ben staring he grins, the tip of his tongue ghosting over his teeth as he does. Bradford hands him a cup and he relishes the taste, closing his eyes and smiling. How did he get the machine to work? Ben wants to ask, but he is perhaps a little embarrassed by his own inability. 

 "Coffee is my specialty," Bradford answers with a wink when Ben relents and asks, swallowing both his coffee and pride, after a few beats of silence. "The one secret behind my success."

"Oh?" Ben raises his eyebrows. 

"Helped me get into your torturously tight pants, didn't it?" Bradford steps closer, setting down his empty cup behind Ben. "Ah, I knew it," Ben feigns exasparation. "It was a conspiracy from the start." 

"I will admit I had something like this in mind the first time I saw you, bent over Sackett's desk, quite provocatively, I might add, and definitely not wearing underwear," Bradford pulls on Ben's hoodie, exhaling against his neck as he laughs silently. 

"Okay first of all, they aren't even that tight," Ben argues even as Bradford grins and begins kissing his neck. "Second of all- oh wow!" Bradford's hand has taken the wind out of Ben's argument entirely, simply by working it's way into his own, less costly and definitely-not-silk boxers. 

"I've got to run soon, Tallmadge, so now we're gonna shut that pretty mouth, alright?"

And Ben really doesn't take issue with his condescending smile, this time. 

+

Mary's smile is all-knowing and it makes him a little uncomfortable. 

"Benjamin!" Sackett sits at Ben's desk when the latter enters his office on monday, visibly relaxed and chipper. "I trust Mr. Bradford is to blame for the spring in your step?"

"I am not even going to ask how you know that," Ben sits at his now vacated seat with Sackett leaning over his shoulder. "What are we looking at?"

"Treason, in a very rational and deliberate manner," Sackett explains without really explaining anything. Ben cranes his neck to look at Sackett, slightly irritated. 

"I see your confusion Benjamin, so I'll elaborate-" is Nathanael Sackett's usual way of hopping into a thirty-minute lecture. 

"So we need a man undercover there?" Ben paraphrases once his boss has sufficiently talked in circles. 

"Lee volunteered to hand-pick someone for the task, though he hasn't been inclined to share who, just yet."

"It's a dangerous job," Ben analyzes correctly. 

"That's why we're sending one of his men, not one of ours," Sackett grins and Ben tries to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Tries. He fails when Sackett adds, "Though naturally, one of ours will be keeping an eye on him...discreetly."

"You don't trust Lee?"

Sackett has lost interest in peering over Ben's shoulder and has instead begun clicking through his own emails at surprising speed. "No," he enunciates clearly. Ben would like to think that Sackett is joking when he says he does not trust one of the most senior men in this country. Unfortunately, Sackett seems to be completely serious. 

"Jesus Sackett, do you even trust yourself?" Ben muses. 

"Not for years," Sackett responds, straight-faced and distracted. 

Unbelievable, Ben thinks. Just unbelievable. 

+

Once or twice Ben almost runs into Bradford in the hallway. The first time Ben almost drops his hot coffee cup when he sees him coming, relents to giving him a tight, forced looking smile that feels more like a grimace than anything, turn on his heels and flees. The second time Ben leaves his coffee standing in the break room, calling after poor Mary to avoid a talk that seems imminent. Alright, so nothing in Bradford's behavior gave Ben reason to think he might be clingy. 

But now he is looking nearly desperate for a talk and it worries Ben. Eventually, Ben slips up. He makes the mistake of staying later than Sackett, alone in their shared office. Bradford strolls in, deliberately calm and poised. "Finishing up?" His long, dark brown hair is tied back impeccably, instead of a suit he is wearing a turtleneck with a blazer that realistically no one should look good in, and yet-

"Should be done soon, yes," Ben stops typing to look at the man. He can't very well avoid his eyes forever.

"Since you've been avoiding me so skillfully, Tallmadge, I'll just come right out and say it. I don't want anything close to a relationship with you either," he leans across the desk, eyes flicking towards Ben's lips. For a second Ben wonders if he is really _that_ obvious. The words are a relief, even if the desire is more apparant than ever in his eyes. His voice sounds a little too used up, like he has spent most of the day screaming. Most likely at Lee. 

"A one time thing then, alright?" Ben holds Bradford's gaze. 

"Could be a regular thing. I wouldn't like to waste someone so physically compatible."

"Oh my, Bradford, any sweeter and I'll faint," Ben laughs, "So clinical and detached."

"I knew that kind of thing got you hot, Tallmadge," he grins, pulling Ben in by the tie and kissing him, open-mouthed and demanding. "So, your place? Once you're finished here, that is."

And Ben doesn't have it in him to resist. He should. Anything more than a one-time-thing is a recipe for disaster. 

+

In their post-coital bliss Bradford answers a call from someone important, still sounding slightly out of breath and dazed. He sobers up fairly quickly, getting up and moving the conversation to Ben's living room. Ben himself remains in bed, picking up his latest read from the nightstand and turning a few pages. Bradford returns, grim-faced but eyes mischievious when he rakes his eyes over Ben's naked form. 

"You do look good like that, Tallmadge," his voice is so thoroughly appreciative that it makes Ben blush, just a little. 

"Oh?" He wonders, stretching a little to tempt Bradford back into bed. It doesn't take long for Bradford to comply, settling over his back and pressing kisses down his spine, humming a little whenever Ben's breath catches.

 "Who was that on the phone?" Ben asks as firm hands spread his legs insistently. Bradford is insatiable tonight. "Lee," Bradford huffs against him, "No one else would be desperate enough to call me at this hour." 

"What did he want?"

"He is sending me to Iraq," Bradford explains. Ben feels his tongue preparing him and instead of expressing his concern he gasps. "Special mission. We had quite the screaming match today about it, I'm surprised you didn't hear it."

"You screamed at Charles Lee?"

"Why wouldn't I scream at the bumbling idiot? He is trying to ship me off to get myself killed, and after I politely refused he _ordered_ me, the bastard." Bradford's hands are demanding and it seems his frustrations only heighten their need to touch. 

Ben knows exactly what mission he is talking about but chooses not to comment, instead melting into his touch. Who will Sackett send to oversee the mission?

"So, if I ever get leave, we can do this again, yeah?" Bradford asks, nibbling at Ben's ear from his vantage point on top of his back. Ben finds himself agreeing eagerly, if only because he hasn't felt this good in years. 

+

Ben runs into Caleb the cab driver a week after he drops Bradford off at the airport. He has been awake for forty-eight hours and just got back from a conference in Virginia that Sackett sent him to as his replacement. Of course Ben is honored by Sackett's trust, this had to have been a big step for the old man, but that doesn't stop him from almost staggering into the opened cab door. "Hey there, stranger," Caleb's voice makes him perk up. "Hey yourself," Ben yawns in response. 

"Off to home, I am guessing?"

Ben is about to relay his address when Caleb interrupts him. "I remember. Lay your head back. I can wake you up once we're there." And Ben would like nothing more but if he closes his eyes now there will be no waking him until the morning. He tells Caleb as much and after a hearty laugh, Caleb instead offers to keep him awake, asking him questions and making small-talk that, for once, Ben actually enjoys. 

"Jesus, Benjamin, when was the last time you slept?" He asks, after a particularly violent yawn that leaves Ben stretching in the small space allotted to him. "Ben," he corrects. 

"Pardon?"

"Only my boss calls me Benjamin," he elaborates. Caleb amends his question with a smile. "I don't know. Two, three days ago?"

"No rest for the wicked who try to assassinate POTUS," Caleb teases. Ben snorts. "What do you actually do at the white house?" 

"Intern," Ben says on yet another yawn. "Lots of boring paper-work and coffee."

"None for you, it seems, if you're that tired. Have you met the president?"

"Once or twice, though I don't think he knows my name," Ben thinks hard on it, unaware if Sackett introduced him or if he left him standing awkwardly in the corner, fiddling with his nails and straining to follow Sackett’s flow of report. There was a collective meet-and-greet when he first started. But President Washington is a busy man, without time to spare for the foot wobblers of the nation. 

"Here we are," Caleb says when they’ve arrived. Ben, as always, tips way too much, enough for Caleb to ask if he has actually looked at the price yet, to which Ben only raises his eyebrows. Caleb pockets the money, done with complaining.

+

The very next morning Caleb picks up Ben. "Did you wait here?" Ben asks, oddly grateful because he is later than he wants to be. 

"Not all night, no, but I did make sure to get here early," he grins as he begins driving without asking for the address. "I’m touched," Ben says as he tries to smooth his hair down, not having had the time to wash it and finally settling on making a little bun. "Don’t be," Caleb says immediately, "You’re just good business."

"So much salt in my wounds so early in the morning," Ben sighs, false drama in his voice. Now Caleb laughs.

It turns into a routine. He sees more of Caleb than any of his friends, these days, riding with him so often it should really be suspicious. 

He learns lots about him on these short trips. Like that they grew up in the same small town, only they never knew because Caleb is seven years older and left immediately after high school.

"So, Caleb," Ben says, one hot late summer day after work when he leans against Caleb’s open door, one arm on the roof of the cab. He has shrugged out of his jacket, undone his tie, pushed up his sleeves in the unbearable heat and still sweat clings to him. "I was thinking you should just give me your number." If he thinks he sees Caleb blushing just a little he tells himself it is because of the heat. "That way I can just tell you when I get off work and you don’t have to wait around all day." The second part is added quickly, lest Caleb think that Ben is hitting on him. 

"Oh, Tallboy, if you think I spend my day pining for your wallet out here you are sadly mistaken," Caleb laughs once Ben is safely inside the cab. "Would be convenient though," he acknowledges and hands Ben a card.  Caleb Brewster, it says, and Ben thinks it fits very well. 

+

When Caleb mentions a movie he would dearly like to see but won't be able to because he cannot find someone to see it with him, Ben steps up immediately, without thinking. "I'll go see it with you," he shrugs, as he undoes the seatbelt to get out. Caleb pauses, a little. 

"Yeah?" He looks unsure and Ben knows what this must look like, to Caleb. He didn't think Caleb was the type to be uncomfortable around him due to his sexuality. It still happens sometimes, when people find out, and Ben knows he should be used to it, but it still takes him by surprise. 

"Oh, don't worry," Ben placates him, immediately, "I'm not trying to hit on you."

"If you were hitting on me, Tallboy," Caleb grins, accepting the money, "I wouldn't be worried. I'd be _flattered_." Ben laughs and Caleb smiles and the whole awkwardness of the previous seconds is forgotten. Only once Caleb's cab disappears from his sight does Ben realize how hard he is blushing. 

 

   +

So he is more nervous than he ought to be, Ben admits, considering that he is going out with a straight guy tonight. The movie they are seeing is definitely not date material anyway. When Caleb talked about it he described it as a remade disaster movie about a sinking ship. "Titanic with none of the _ridiculous_ romance, Tallboy," he had said. So really, it is absolutely _ridiculous_ that Ben is pacing in front of his closet, trying to put something together that isn't a variation of the suit-and-tie combination Caleb has seen him in plenty of times. 

"Sam?" He finally relents and calls his brother. 

"A movie date, huh Benny? What's her name?" 

"Cal-" Ben stops himself, clears his throat unnecessarily loud, then begins anew, "Cala."

"Is that short for something? That doesn't sound like a name, to be honest," he hears Sam laughing on the other end. Ben told Sam he was gay, once, when both of them were drunk off their ass when Sam was visiting him at Yale. He'd been blabbering on about a date he was nervous about, just like now. Back then he was dating his closest friend, Nathan. It would have been perfect, on paper. It should have been perfect. It should have worked. And yet, when Nathan kissed him that night, he had felt none of the excitement and a whole lot of awkwardness. That had been the end of their short try at a future together. By now he has lost touch. Nathan is somewhere across the globe, teaching underprivileged children and building schools because _of course he is_. Nathan was an angel and Ben never deserved him anyway. 

So he told his brother, that night. And the next morning, when Sam woke up, he didn't remember. Ben considers it a blessing now, and he has never considered telling him again. 

"You're very nervous about this date, Ben. Is it serious?" Sam's voice lures him out of his thoughts again. 

"No," Ben replies, not unaware of how disappointed he sounds. 

"But you would like it to be, got it," Sam retorts, no longer as teasing. He does get to the point and help Ben, eventually.  _Anything to finally get you settled as well, huh little brother?_

+

 

"Wasn't sure you ever take those suits of yours off, to be honest," Caleb greets him in front of the cinema, leaning against the building more casually than Ben could ever hope to even feign. And he looks good, hair combed back smoothly and beard in order, long coat over a white henley shirt and jeans, grey beanie perfectly in place. Caleb is a very handsome man and Ben resigns himself to many days of unrequited pining on his account. 

 "It feels foreign, if I am honest." Ben looks at his shoes, a little nervously. He is dressed down, for his part, in wearing a jeans and shirt with a soft blue sweater thrown on top. He got so used to practically living for work that he only managed to find these items in the very back of his closet. 

"Hair looks good too, longer than I thought," Caleb observes, stepping a little closer and taking a strand between his fingers. His hands leave as quickly as they came. He is a good deal shorter than Ben, and when he looks up at him Ben doesn't really know what to say. "I've never seen it open before, have I? Suits you, Tallboy."

"I was going to cut it," Ben scratches the back of his head, embarrassed by Caleb's attention and wishing he could compliment him in return without it being weird. Ben means his compliments differently than Caleb does. The man in front of him makes a disapproving noise and shakes his head. "Don't you dare."

That gets a laugh out of Ben, finally. The initial awkwardness of meeting outside their usual perimeter is broken. 

"Can't remember the last time I went to the cinema, if I am honest." Ben looks at the ticket line, the many nervous couples out here tonight, and smiles gently. 

"We need to get you away from work more often," Caleb grins as he nods towards the ticket booth. Ben's chest flutters, just a little.

 "It is just that life has been all work no play since Yale, really." Ben lets his eyes wander again, regretful and perhaps a little envious. 

"We could change that," Caleb's voice is careful when he speaks, he is peering up into Ben's face almost shyly. It is so different from his usual demeanor that Ben pauses, for a second. Then he smiles. "Yeah, sure, we could do that."

The movie is pretty terrible, in Ben's opinion.

 (Which has nothing to do with the fact that there is a Captain Bradford in it. He doesn't spend the next ten minutes thinking about how long it has been, again. It hasn't even been that long, but Caleb is sitting right next to him and in the cramped space their thighs are neatly aligned and Ben can _smell_ what he supposes is Caleb's aftershave. And Ben has never been the type to pine after a straight man but _come on_ -)

"You didn't like it," Caleb laughs, when they leave the cinema. Ben tries to duck around an answer but eventually confirms Caleb's suspicion. "That's alright, hey, the next one? I promise it'll be better."

And Ben really doesn't know what to say to that, so he smiles, a little breathlessly. 

+

Caleb weasels his way into Ben's heart with more audacity than any human being has any right to. 

"Alright, that one was better," Ben admits when they step out of a fantasy film, a week later. The weather is colder and both of them are bundled up with scarves now. Caleb is in the process of fixing his when Ben gives his verdict. "Better?" Caleb raises one eyebrow, questioningly, "That wasn't the enthusiastic reaction I was hoping for, tallboy."

"Guess you'll have to try again, hm?" Ben grins. 

"I am already plotting," Caleb nods, determinedly. Finally he has conquered the scarf. "In the meantime though, I'll walk you home." 

It isn't a far walk to Ben's place, a couple of blocks maybe, but the suggestion makes his heart skip a beat anyway. "My cab's parked there, is all," Caleb clears his throat and Ben feels awkward for reading too much into it, yet again. _Caleb is straight,_ Ben berates himself. You're barely friends, if that. 

"You wanna get a bite to eat on the way home?" Caleb pipes up after a short spell of comfortable silence. "My treat, for once." His voice is goading and Ben finds himself agreeing although he really should be getting home before he does something stupid. Caleb makes him stupid. 

"You know a good place?"

Caleb's grin is all the answer he needs. In the end he drags Ben quite some distance from his apartment, but man is the food worth it. This feels like university again, out past midnight and getting something for the way home in the dingy hours of the morning. Snow begins to fall as they resume their journey home and Caleb pulls Ben by the arm to cover. "No use in getting the food all soggy with snow, eh?" 

Ben's mouth is full of deliciousness so he makes a garbled sound that passes for agreement. Caleb laughs. It feels perfect. There are a few snowflakes in Caleb's hair and beard and he watches them melt with almost indecent attention. 

When they finally do reach his place, Caleb laughs and steps towards him, finger wiping at Ben's lip, softly but with enough pressure to make Ben's head spin. "Sorry, tallboy, it's just you had some falafel left over there-Christ, that must have been on your face the whole way home."

"No wonder people kept staring," Ben joins in, laughing. Caleb is still close. Really, he should be stepping back now. Instead, his brown eyes settle on Ben's. (How does breathing work again? Out, out, in? In, out, out? For the life of him, he doesn't know anymore.)

"Trust me, Ben, that's not why they were staring."

And Ben wants to risk everything, right when Caleb says it. Caleb doesn't mean it that way, he tells himself, he tries convincing himself. He _can't_ mean it that way. 

His eyes drop to Caleb's lips, curled back in a smile that looks so impossibly kind and daring at the same time. How does that even work? He meets Caleb's eyes again, looking for a confirmation, looking for a reason to go ahead. _Tell me you won't push me away if I do this, Caleb. Give me some kind of sign_. And by god, Caleb does. He holds eye contact insistently, adam's apple bobbing deliciously as he swallows a lump in his throat. "Ben," he says, quietly on an exhale.  _Caleb,_ Ben wants to respond, against his lips, into his mouth. 

So he steps closer. Caleb doesn't step away. Caleb sees Ben's hand coming up to caress his cheek and leans into it, looking up at Ben in a mix of apprehension and  _willingness to try_ that makes Ben's stomach hurt from flopping about. And then just as Ben thinks it is safe to duck his head, lean in and close the distance, Caleb clears his throat and steps back. Ben flinches, already feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. 

"Gotta be off, then," Caleb mutters, scratching his head a little. Ben can't meet his eyes, not now. He is too embarrassed by what he was about to do. Sleep does not come easy that night. 

+

Ben knows he got a little too close that night. He takes special care to stick to a safe distance the following times. It turns into another routine. Caleb picks movies that range from mildly enjoyable to horrendous and Ben watches them and tries to figure out why Caleb likes them so much. All he manages to figure out is why he likes Caleb so much. 

This isn't like him. 

Something needs to change. 

"Rough day?" Caleb asks empathetically when he picks up Ben two months after what could have been a kiss. "I’m hoping it won’t be by the time we get to the airport," he sighs. Caleb begins driving. "Don’t see any luggage. Must be a short trip," Caleb guesses. Ben laughs. "Very short, I hope, we’re just there to pick someone up."

"Ah? Family?"

"You remember my friend Bradford, Caleb?" Ben scrolls through his phone, a little distractedly. He doesn’t catch the way Caleb’s smile falters. Ben's words are like a punch to the stomach.

Of course he remembers the tall drunk man that fondled Ben in the back of his cab months ago. He remembers that annoyingly handsome face, adorned with large pouty lips and a jaw so chiseled it would make Michelangelo weep. It's just that Ben hasn't mentioned him in months. Caleb hasn't seen him with him in months.

Caleb has gone out on just about eight dates with Ben. Bradford didn't even come up a single time. Now Caleb blames himself for thinking that anyone might have let Ben go. 

Bradford would have to be the biggest idiot in the world. 

"Vaguely, he didn’t say much," Caleb answers, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. He should have been brave, that night. Their lips were close enough, he should have closed the distance. He should have.  But he didn't. He hasn't been brave in a long time. 

"I’m a little nervous if I’m honest. All this sobriety is making me panic." Ben confesses, still blissfully unaware of just how annoyed Caleb is. He is too preoccupied on the fact that he hasn't really been around Bradford often enough for this to be anything less than awkward. 

"I’ll pray for you," Caleb deadpans.

"Please," Ben nods eagerly as he gets out. Caleb crosses his fingers, sarcastically, and waits, heeding Ben’s order to keep the meter running. As he looks at the climbing fare, he wonders how a white house intern can possibly afford to tip as well as Ben does, and consistently. But there are a lot of things that don’t add up about Ben. He never talks about work. By now they have talked a lot. Whenever the topic of work springs up, Ben dismisses it as boring and ungratifying. But there has to be more to it, there has to be. 

Bradford greets Caleb curtly as he slides into the backseat, impeccably dressed and made-up even after a flight and _of course_ Ben likes him. Look at him. Caleb wouldn't look that put together after a full spa weekend. And he really tries, whenever they go out. He feels silly for his efforts now, but he really tried impressing Ben. 

How could Caleb ever hope to compete with Bradford? Why should he even want to?

He drops Bradford off at Ben’s place and Ben tosses _his boyfriend_ the keys effortlessly. He stays behind for a second both to pay Caleb and to look at him strangely for a long time. "No need to come by tomorrow morning, I guess?" Caleb wonders, striving for light-heartedness. He isn't sure how off-target he is, but his voice sounds fake even to him. 

Ben furrows his brow. "No, Bradford won’t be staying the night, he has to report to his boss in a few hours. I’ll see you tomorrow, Caleb, if you’re still after my money."

Admittedly Caleb is after more than that, but he’s not about to insert himself into Ben’s life when the man clearly already has everything he could ever want.

+

Bradford’s touch is exhilarating and Ben relishes it, demanding more like he never has before. His partner is only too willing to comply, pressing Ben against him so tightly Ben wonders why they haven’t molded into a single being, with all this heat and sweat. He is only a little ashamed that the thought of Caleb is what finally pushes him over the edge. 

"God, Tallmadge, I missed that," Bradford laughs as he falls onto his back next to Ben, patting his chest as if to commend him for his effort. He doesn’t say _I miss you_ because they are very much in agreement as to what this isn’t. "How much longer before you report to Lee?" Ben turns around to fish for his alarm. Bradford checks his phone. "Three hours, I think?"

"So," Ben decides, still a little out of breath, "Food, then round two?"

"My god, I need to get leave more often if this is my reward," Bradford laughs, getting up to pee. Ben drags himself to the kitchen and begins cooking. He has never really cooked for anyone but himself. He doesn't know what kind of food Bradford likes. He is working blind, basically, and it makes him nervous. 

"Nothing compared to the stellar military food you wrote about, I’m sure," Ben jokes when Bradford settles against the counter to watch him. "Can I interest you in some wine?"

"Maybe Lee will kick me to the curb for good if I show up drunk. Why did I never think of that?" He wonders, accepting the glass Ben pours him. This could almost be considered romantic, only they’re both in their underwear and smell of sweat. Ben feels Bradford’s residue leak out of him in slow drips and decides to ignore it.

After dinner Bradford washes up, shoving Ben when he claims he doesn’t need help. "Two pairs of hands work faster, Tallmadge. Do you want me inside of you again before I leave or not?"

Ben really can’t argue with that.

 

 +

"I don’t even know if you drink coffee, but I brought you some anyway," Ben says as he gets into the waiting cab the next morning. Caleb accepts and toasts him before he begins driving. "You did haul me out of bed earlier than anticipated."

"I know, I’m an arsehole, but I need to beat my boss to work," Ben explains as he struggles with the seat belt, hand holding the coffee precariously wobbly until Caleb steadies it. Their fingers touch just a little and Ben almost yelps at the contact. Instead he stares at their touching fingers and tries to stop his heart from breaking his ribcage. 

"Are you threatening to do bodily harm to the president again, _Benjamin_?" Caleb rebukes, trying to seem stern.

"The president isn’t my boss," Ben lets slip before he realizes that Caleb, for all intents and purposes, believes he is just an intern, to the president. "Not my immediate boss, that is," Ben saves himself. Caleb says nothing, but his raised eyebrow says everything.

"Ah, Ben, you don’t really think I think you’re an intern?"

"I used to be an intern," Ben interjects, because that is how he started out. On his very first day he ran into Sackett and it turned his life around. When he was younger Ben wanted to be a politician. But Sackett’s line of work is so much more than anything he could have hoped for.

"No intern could afford to tip the way you do, tallboy," Caleb laughs. "I'm not about to ask you questions about your super-secret-spy work."

 "Ah, there’s William," Caleb points out as they reach the white house. "Who?" Ben wonders before peering out of the window and seeing Bradford waiting for him with a casual smirk and crossed arms. He really does make a handsome figure in his dress shirt. It would be more appealing still if Ben hadn’t already seen him naked.

"How do you know his first name?"

"Drove him here from your place last night, remember? He used the card I gave you," Caleb explains, scrunching up his nose.

"Was it worth it?"

"Either your boyfriend really is not on the same spy-level as you are or he’s just tighter with his money," Caleb jokes, opening the door for Ben. It is a sort of ritual between the two of them now. Before Ben can clarify that Bradford is definitely not his boyfriend of any kind, Caleb has taken his money and driven off.

"At this point, is he even a cab driver anymore or is he your chauffeur?" Bradford asks as Ben comes towards him. "Maybe when I get another sixteen promotions I’ll think about a chauffeur," he laughs. "Aim high, pretty boy," Bradford joins in. Then, uncharacteristically, he pulls Ben in for a very public kiss that leaves Ben craving more physical contact. "Needed one more for the road," Bradford explains when he pulls away, clapping Ben’s shoulder good-naturedly. "I’ll see you next time I’m in town, yeah?"

Ben nods, absent-mindedly fingering his lips for the rest of his day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe I actually got around to updating this? Me neither, but I just can't seem to abandon it - so enjoy.

 

"Go out for drinks with me," Ben blurts out, one morning, just past six AM, as Caleb drops him off at work. Ben has his eyes trained firmly on Caleb, intent on capturing every component of his reaction. At first, there is surprise. Eyebrows shooting up ever so slightly. Then, suspicion. Caleb frowns, a little. Truly the range of emotions that play across his face is mesmerizing. Finally, he settles on something that almost looks bitter, his lips drawn thin and almost disappearing into his beard, his brow furrowed. 

"As friends, yeah?" 

Ben really doesn't know what to make of that. Caleb seems so comfortable whenever they go to see a movie. Why is it that every time Ben suggests something else, something that they have not previously done, Caleb reverts back to this? He thinks of defense-mechanisms, first, and then tries not to feel too bitter about it himself. He isn't some rabid gay about to jump  Caleb as soon as he gets him alone.

"Of course, Caleb," Ben replies, a little stronger than originally intended. Okay, so his intentions wouldn't be half as pure if Caleb was interested in men. He’ll freely admit that his attraction to Caleb is a real and tangible thing, gaining more traction with every single grin and every single hand raked through a wild brown beard.  But no, Ben has caught many text messages in the corner of his eye by now. Caleb himself sometimes talks about a date or two. Once or twice Ben has laughed along to anecdotes about disaster dates as well. Women, Ben frowns, always about women. He is not one for pointless hope, nor is he one for undue pining, but everything about Caleb calls to him. So, he pines away. 

"Of course," Caleb sighs, a little too quietly to be intentional, "And why not? Grand idea, truly, best one I’ve heard all day." It almost sounds like he is rambling to himself. Ben waits for him to make up his mind. 

"What time will you have me, Benny-boy?" 

And Ben tries his hardest not to blush at that because his thoughts-

"After work sounds good?"

"I won't be drinking and driving, Tallboy, that's irresponsible and could very well cost me my job."

"You can crash on my couch if that is what you're concerned about," Ben dismisses, a little too flippantly. Caleb side-eyes him for what feels like half an eternity, and then Ben wonders if half an eternity wouldn’t technically also be an eternity, and he is certain that at least a few minutes pass in actual-not-metaphorical-time before Caleb nods and voices his agreement.

+

"You brought the cabbie!" Abe yells excitedly, jumping up from the booth he is reserving for tonight’s group when Ben enters with Caleb by his side. (Caleb had leaned into him after they’d had a somewhat hesitant embrace outside this bar, informed him of a change of plan. "Got a well-paying gig in the morning, so I won’t be drinking and don’t need to encroach on your probably stellar hospitality, consider yourself lucky, I snore loud enough to make a whole country’s worth of ears bleed." Ben had belatedly realized that irrational disappointment was definitely showing on his face and then tried to smile as he quipped back something about employing Caleb as a tactical weapon in war zones. It might have been more of a grimace and he really needs to get ahold of himself what the fuck-)

The hug that Abe, already way ahead of the curve in matters of intoxication, the only time he can be fucked to care about his achievements compared to his fellow participants, gives Caleb is less awkward and more of an attack, but Caleb is steady on his feet and manages to bring back a little balance to their dynamic. It shouldn’t upset Ben so much that he doesn’t look stiff bestowing physical affection onto Abe. And yet-

Mary and Anna wave from the table, Selah is at the bar – undoubtedly discussing politics with a bartender wearing a Che Guevara t-shirt – getting the next round. Caleb already knows Anna, it turns out, and apparently they hooked up in college once.

"I didn’t know you’d gone to college," Ben blurts out. Caleb raises an eyebrow at him and then a slow smile spreads on his face as he seems to be recalling days past.

"I’ve been on a college campus," he shrugs eventually. "It didn’t suit me well."

"He would have made a great financial advisor," Anna replies, grinning. "But the sea called him and he was too weak to resist that particular siren song."

"And then the Navy discharged me, and here I am," Caleb shrugs.

"The fastest and _bestest_ cab driver in Washington D.C." Anna toasts him. Caleb, Ben realizes, does not quite know how to react to honest praise. It makes him look at his fingers, which drum the table as his neck reddens. Interesting. Ben is staring again. Shit.

Caleb, who has definitely noticed Ben’s relentless ogling by now, clears his throat and gets up. "And what’ll you be having, Tallboy?"

"Long Island Iced Tea," Abe answers for him, in a tone he probably thinks is conversational but which has Mary flinching and almost upsetting her glass of orange juice. ("I’m on pure OJ due to my condition," she offers Caleb a sympathetic smile, "So you are not the lonely propagator of sobriety." Mary pointedly forgets to mention that she hardly ever drinks at such gatherings, no matter her condition, precisely because Abe becomes half a mess most times. A lovable mess, but a mess nonetheless.) 

"Yeah, what he said."

Abe demands a high five at having guessed correctly, and then grins when he misses so atrociously he almost slaps Ben in the face. 

"Repping the roots, I see," Caleb grins as he departs for the bar, where Selah also recognizes him quite happily with a fond handshake and a hand to his cheek to make fun of the beard, he guesses. Ben supposes it makes sense that they know one another, if Caleb is also from Setauket. How strange, Ben thinks, that they grew up in the same fifteen-thousand-people town, seven years apart – so his and Selah’s High School careers might have overlapped – and then met in D.C., of all places. Serendipity is the word, he thinks.

All in all it is a pleasant evening, though Ben can’t claim he isn’t intermittently distracted by the way Caleb’s thigh presses against him whenever he shifts next to him in the booth. It is never intentional and never lasts long enough to savour, but it is enough to be a distraction. He is tempted, so very tempted, to put a hand on Caleb’s thigh and explore. It looks sturdy, strong in his jeans, and Ben thinks it would be very interesting indeed to trace the play of muscles with his fingers. He doesn’t, though. _Ben, 1, Temptation, 0_. Small victories, he thinks.

+

"Looks like a good day," Ben guesses when he sits down to Caleb humming along to the radio pleasantly, a bit over three weeks later. (Considering that Caleb has been working since he called him at five-thirty in the morning, the humming almost promises pure ecstasy on Caleb’s part, if he does it at this hour of the day.)

"It is, Tallboy, it really is," he agrees.

"Dare I ask what has rendered you so jubilant? Oh, not my place today, Caleb, sorry, I’m heading into the city to meet up with some colleagues."

"Secret _spy-related_ colleagues? Are you carrying the stolen Declaration of Independence in your briefcase? A million rubles to pay off a Russian informant? Drugs? A bomb?" Caleb teases, conveniently electing not to share his own reasons for smiling, and Ben rolls his eyes. "Just Abe and some other guys from his department. Mary gave birth a month ago, we are celebrating her diastasis recti finally closing up."

That, at least, is what Abe took as sufficient grounds for celebration.  

"So did they end up with Thomas or Elizabeth?" Caleb wonders, remembering the options Abraham related to him once upon a drunken night. "Both, actually, Caleb, I can’t believe you didn’t remember she was expecting twins," Ben teases, twinkle in his eyes.

"Mea maxima culpa."

Ben gets out, but Caleb calls him back at the last second. "Oh and Ben?"

"Yes, _dearest_?" Ben bends back into the car, indulging smile on his face. "Give me a call when you’re ready to leave. As it happens my plans for the evening are quite close by."

Ben ignores the fact that the fact that Caleb has a date irks him. Of course Caleb has dates. Who wouldn’t want to spend their life waking up to those warm brown eyes every morning? Whoever she is, she’s a lucky woman.

"By now I should just give you a set amount each month, would be much more convenient."

"No one’s asking you to tip so well, Tallboy, though I won't pretend to hate it," Caleb retorts, eyes glittering.

"Would you stay if I didn’t?"

Is this flirting? Ben feels like it is flirting, and then wonders if he shouldn’t do it anymore.

"Probably not," Caleb lies. "One more thing, Ben."

"Yeah?"

"If you do take someone home I’d appreciate it if you kept the backseat clean this time, if you catch my drift."

Ben blushes furiously and Caleb would dearly like to take a picture. In the end he nods and then heads into the bar. It must be their regular one. Longingly, Caleb wonders if he’ll be asked to join again. He enjoyed that group, he thought they all fit together very well, and he already knows Anna and Selah very well. Abe’s not half-bad, Caleb likes a man of little shame. Mary is a force to be reckoned with too, and he likes that in a woman. 

It’s late, well into the early hours of the morning when Caleb finally stops in front of Ben’s place, mercifully only carrying Ben and not someone in tow. "Sorry that it got so late," Ben apologizes, handing him an obscene amount of money. He is too drunk, still swaying to inaudible music. "Wasn’t like I was sleeping anyway," Caleb grins.

"Yes, I can tell," Ben says as he stares at the hickeys all along Caleb’s neck, disappearing into his shirt and who knows where else. Someone certainly had fun tonight, the bitter thoughts return. He smells the perfume, something like cinnamon and something deeper. Not exactly what Ben would decry as outrageously feminine, but who is he to judge someone’s olfactory choices when he has been sticking to the same, horrendously mainstream scent since High School? It smells nice, is what he registers, and the thought of that offends him. He’s still pretty fucked as well as fucked up.

Caleb clears his throat when Ben’s eyes don’t seem to stop burning a path down his body. Ben struggles with his seatbelt as always. Not trusting him to find his way to the right floor in this state, Caleb comes around and helps Ben out of the car. Ben leans against him like dead-weight, unsteady and wobbly. It would be hilarious that alcohol can fell such a man, if it didn’t also mean that his long limbs were flapping about and threatening to do damage to Caleb every step of the way.

 "Which floor?" Caleb asks, reaching into the pocket he knows contains Ben’s keys, hearing no protest but only a hummed sound of content approval from his best customer and the man he should know better than to get so close to. He has a boyfriend. He has that gorgeous man Bradford; it doesn’t matter if the guy is off saving the world in the Middle East or wherever, it doesn't matter if he sneers more than anyone else Caleb has ever seen.

"Apartment 721," Ben slurs. "Funny, mine is 725 in my complex," Caleb snorts a little. He wrestles Ben into the elevator and plans to deposit Ben at his door, but then Ben surprises him.

"You can stay, you know? I know your shift usually starts at 8 if I’m not torturing you and you don’t live in the inner city. You could-"

Ben, it seems, is still articulate for coherent sentences in this state, despite the occasional blurriness of tone, cadence and interspersed yawns.

"You sure about that, Tallboy?"

Ben nods, insistently, and gestures wildly towards the large and comfortable looking couch. Caleb doesn’t have it in him to protest, especially when Ben staggers to his bedroom only to return with silky looking blankets and a nice, plush pillow, softer than anything Caleb has ever felt. So it seems the man does have his occasional indulgences. This thread-count is off the charts, he is almost too excited just to sleep in it.

Ben begins undressing, seemingly unaware of Caleb watching him – but watch him Caleb does. He feels some amount of remorse, but his tongue won’t be moved to protest just yet. No, Caleb is unfortunately somewhat mesmerized. The dress shirt comes off first and through the light spilling in through the windows due to the still-lit street lamps he can make out two circular scars, one on his right shoulder and the other on his left side, both look to have healed badly.

Caleb chooses not to comment on it.

Only when Ben moves on to his pants does Caleb interrupt him and nudge him towards his bedroom. There are some things that perfectly demonstrate just how much consequences sometimes outweigh the potential benefits.

"Caleb?" Ben asks, stopping in his bedroom door with his lips in a perfect pout.

"Yes?" Answers Caleb, carefully controlled.

"Do you-" He stops, hiccups, clears his throat and begins anew. "Do you think-"

Possibilities flood Caleb’s head, so many of them at once he doesn’t have time to let them crystallize into something clearer as they stare at one another. Ben takes another deep breath and then finally poses the question that has apparently been on his mind for some time. "Do you think I’m pretty?"

Caleb would laugh. Really, he feels like laughing. This is frankly ridiculous. But it seems Ben is earnestly looking for an answer, his blue eyes wide and so adorably hopeful that Caleb’s heart both leaps and constricts at the same time. That’s got to be a special talent, doesn’t it? How many hearts can do that, Caleb wonders, bitterly. He’s fucked when it comes to Benjamin.

"I think you’re drunk," Caleb finally says, decidedly.

"I didn’t ask you whether you thought me drunk," Ben huffs, "But I suppose I shouldn’t have asked in the first place." He turns to go into his bedroom, mumbling a hasty apology, and Caleb can’t let that stand. He’s a foolish man, and a selfish man to boot, so he grabs Ben by the hand and makes him turn around. The force of his movement and the general drunkenness of Ben leave them pressed together, Ben’s hands on Caleb’s shoulder like on a lifeline.

"I think you’re quite possibly the prettiest man I’ve ever seen, Ben. I also think you’re drunk and shouldn’t be asking me this, mostly because you’ve already got enough men telling you that on the regular, I’d wager."

Ben stares at Caleb again, and really, Caleb isn’t an idiot. This isn’t the first time they’ve been in such a position, and he is very aware that the attraction he feels isn’t entirely one-sided. But Ben is not available. He can’t forget that.

"I don’t want to hear it from other men," Ben whispers, eyes unwavering. Torture. This is absolute torture. 

"You should sleep, Tallboy," Caleb gently pries Ben’s hand off his shoulders with a reserve of mental strength hitherto undiscovered, and then heads for the couch before he compromises on his morals. He hasn’t got many to begin with, so each time he does have to compromise it is so much worse for it.

+

"Morning, Tallboy," Caleb calls out warningly from the couch when Ben slumps into the kitchen, butt-naked and a sight Caleb won’t soon forget. Jesus fucking Christ, he is made of marble. There is no other way to explain how that shape was carved.

He yelps when he hears Caleb’s voice, clutching his chest and covering himself with a magazine. "Christ, Caleb, I’m sorry. I forgot you were here."

"I’ll be off soon," Caleb dismisses, watching Ben’s butt retreat into his room longer than he should. This can be written off as appreciating art, he rationalizes. He’s becoming more cultured, enhancing his knowledge of the ideal physical form. It’s not his weakest excuse ever, but it is still flimsy at best.

"Can I interest you in some coffee before you go?" Ben calls from his bedroom, somewhat alarmed still. He comes back out quickly in long boxers and an open shirt which isn’t much better because Caleb can still see his chest and he really, really wants to lick it.

More accurately, Caleb wants to fall on his knees and lick much more of him, but the chest would be his optimal starting point. There are so many directions you can take from the chest onward.

"You aren’t going to work today?" Caleb wonders as he accepts the mug of coffee Ben finally coaxes out of a coffee machine he seems to glare at until it has done its job sufficiently, almost like he is expecting the machine to disappoint him. There's a story behind that, surely. 

"I," Ben brags, creating dramatic tension by taking a sip of coffee before he continues, "Have three weeks of paid vacation ahead of me."

"Off to anywhere special?"

"No, I’m staying in the city. Just relishing the fact that I can do nothing for once. Might go see my father, might not."

"They must really be on your ass at work, hm?" Caleb can’t help but be curious. Ben smiles into his coffee, refusing to divulge anything about what he actually does. Many mornings Caleb has tried to trick him into admitting that he is a spy, only for Ben to roll his eyes a little too exaggeratedly. It makes Caleb think he is spot on. Though if Ben is a spy, he’s shit at acting. Still, there are the scars that look eerily like bullet scars. Ben must have seen at least a little action for that to have happened. 

"Caleb," Ben wonders as he says goodbye at the door, "Would you like to get drinks after you get off work?"

"Tonight’s no good," Caleb shakes his head. While he hates seeing that look of disappointment in Ben’s eyes, he isn’t about to set himself up for heartbreak. Ben’s got his William, however little he speaks of him. And Caleb does have a modicum of self-preservation sense in him, contrary to prevailing popular opinion.

"Alright," Ben nods eventually, "Let me know if any other date suits you better."

+

Bradford returns from abroad a month later, to give his slightly overdue report to Lee. "Don’t know why he insists on keeping me so close," he complains even as Ben is working to take him into his mouth, almost gagging on the pervasive strawberry taste of the condoms he brought with him. (Bradford was fair enough to inform him that he hooked up with other people while abroad, and Ben does appreciate it very much.) "It’s like the man thinks he is my father- oh god, Ben, that’s good. Fuck, your mouth looks pretty on my cock."

The first name sounds unfamiliar coming from him and Ben wonders why they’ve never actually called each other by their given names before. "He treats me like I’m still green-ah, fuck. Why’d you stop?"

Ben leans back on his heels, hands steadied against Bradford’s thighs. " Believe it or not, your complaints about Charles Lee while I'm sucking you off aren’t exactly setting the right mood." Truthfully it feels too much like a boyfriend coming home from work and letting his frustrations be known. Venting.

 "Fair enough," Bradford nods, tangling one hand in Ben’s hair and pulling him down again. "Can I complain about him later though?”

Ben grunts, mouth too full to give a proper answer, and earns himself a laugh.

Surprisingly Bradford pulls Ben into his arms afterwards, a far cry from the distance he kept the last times. His long fingers play with Ben’s hair as he recounts everything that happened in Iraq. Ben senses that this new need for intimacy is a product of loneliness in the desert, despite the apparent hookups.

"Ben, would you ever-" he starts, trailing off when he thinks Ben is fast asleep on his chest.

"I’m awake, Bradford, finish the question," he murmurs.

"Firstly, I think we’re past the last-name-basis, don’t you?"

"Sure," Ben agrees lazily, "Now ask whatever has been eating away at you."

"Would you ever want to go on a date?"

"We’ve been on dates," Ben yawns, "We just argue about everything."

"We’ve been on _a_ date, singular," Bradford, no, William, corrects him. "And I fail to see how we could argue about your family, or your hobbies, or which books you enjoyed reading the last few months while I was away."

"This isn’t a relationship, William," Ben sighs, wary at the turn of events.

"No it isn’t," Bradford – it is too straining for Ben to suddenly think of him as William when he’s been Bradford ever since he has known him- agrees pleasantly, kissing the crown of Ben’s head. "But do you have to be in a relationship to want to actually get to know the person you’re sleeping with?"

"I guess not," he yawns.

"Tomorrow then? Before you put me on my flight back?"

"Sure," Ben finally agrees, remembering that Caleb turned him down for drinks again and again. Ben wishes he could just blurt out that he isn’t about to try and turn him gay. If that were possible, he would though. Then he feels bad for thinking such a thing. It’s reprehensible, and intrusive, and he would _never_ want to. Bradford lets go of him and turns over for a quick nap before he heads out to meet with Lee.

(He won’t be calling him William in his head, apparently that is just not possible.)

The date isn’t bad. Bradford actually pays attention and listens to what Ben has to say. Ben has already spent most of last night listening to what has been going on in his life recently, so he asks Bradford about his childhood. Bradford ends up insisting on paying the check and on the walk home Ben gets the overwhelming desire to hold his hand. Sue him; he gets lonely sometimes as well.

He leaves again the next morning with a kiss that feels too tender and a smile that almost looks dopey.

+

Two weeks later, the day begins just like any other, until Mary informs them that Lee has called a pretty urgent meeting. Whatever the subject, it must be momentous, because when Ben and Sackett do enter the meeting room they walk into an assembly consisting of President Washington and most of his other 'highest-clearance' staff.

Ben receives the news of Bradford’s disappearance with only partly-feigned nonchalance, and then wonders why he feels so damn guilty that he isn’t more upset. People in their line of work disappear every day, and they weren’t actually together, but those seem weak justifications. He should be upset, but all he feels is a drive to find out what happened, because the whole thing stinks something rotten.

Washington asks Sackett to stay behind afterwards, ostensibly to discuss some vaguely threatening letters received, but once the door shuts behind the last staff member, he turns so serious Ben wonders at being allowed to stay.

"Gentlemen," he begins, making it clear that he intends to include Ben in the conversation, and he can’t hide his excitement entirely. "It seems that someone set up Mr. Bradford to take the fall for recent wrong-goings overseas, but it was clumsily done and now I require the two of you to find the person really behind it all, so they can be dealt with…discreetly."

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> local idiots realize how oblivious they've been - YOU wont BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT
> 
> (the moment you've been waiting for)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so maybe this took me three months to update, again. But I am determined to finish it. Fight me. Only one more chapter to go after all. It's gonna happen.  
> its also rule #1 for my turn fics that I have to make Caleb say nutsack at least once, because I'm weak over the way that Daniel Henshall said it in Episode 1 of Season 2.

Someone is waiting in their office when Ben manages to get there half a minute before Sackett. It is a triumph dampened by the presence of another, earlier inhabitant. Small victories. Ben knows him, although he supposes the newly-shaved face is very different to the one he saw on screens for the past year or so. 

"I didn't know we were expecting you back already, Robert," says Ben to Robert Townsend, wondrously. He's already facing Ben, or he suspects he would turn around rather dramatically and say something along the lines of 'ah, Mr. Tallmadge, but I have been expecting _you_.' in the driest tone of voice possible. 

"You weren't. But I had information Sackett wished for me to divulge and things over there were heating up precariously. That's all the incentive I needed to hop on a plane back."

Speak of the devil, Sackett appears in the doorway, distractedly making noises that vary from low humming to dissapproving clucking of his tongue as he leafs through several pages of intelligence for the day that presumably aren't quite ready to be presented to Washington yet. 

"Ah, Mr. Townsend, how swell of you to join us here so early. Benjamin, I see you managed to beat me here and I applaud that. Remind me to make a note of it in my missives for tomorrow. Shall we get to it?"

"We should," Robert agrees, pleasantly. "As you've certainly read in my latest report, I'd started getting suspicious when my mark began to show unusual signs of agitation. I had noted he wasn't sleeping well, and that he started asking around with local groups whenever he went out for recon. It is what gave some people cause to believe that he had defected. However..."

In the end Robert gives them information that could potentially change anything, had they only tangible proof President Washington would not turn his nose up at. As it is, they do not, and Ben can see clearly in the frantic look in Sackett's eyes that he knows they cannot go to Washington with this. 

"Right now it seems to me, Benjamin," Sackett sighs, after Robert has signed off to disappear somewhere, wherever he goes when he comes home, "That we either send someone to follow up on Robert's intelligence, or we bury it. Neither option is particularly endearing." 

"No," Ben muses, wondering how Bradford must have felt just before he presumably died, "I suppose you're right." 

Does he owe it to Bradford to set this right? To possibly discover who set him up to take the fall, if someone did? He isn't above considering the possibility that he turned on them of his own volition, but Ben can't think about that without wondering whether he spent the last year being used. And that is not at all a pleasant thought to have. 

+

He calls Caleb and the man wastes no time assuring him that, no, he wouldn't mind taking a walk together. The cab picks him up from work and he refuses payment, insisting that he is off the clock. 

"I'm all too willing to actually deface my cab sign if it'll get you to stop nagging me about this, alright Tallboy?"

Ben smiles through the painfully fond feeling in his chest he tends to get whenever he comes near to Caleb now. It's impossible to ignore, but he always just manages to cover it up sufficiently, he thinks. In any case, they are friends now. Friends, who regularly get drinks with other friends, who talk about pretty much anything, who connect. 

It is both wonderful and the worst thing ever. Talking to Caleb is exciting, and offers perspectives Ben never thought to consider before. But it is also nothing short of torture to watch him recount his adventures with a twinkle in his eye that never quite dims, speaking of such a sunny disposition that it draws Benjamin in like the metaphorical flame to his existence as a moth. Metaphors were, to the surprise of no one, not his forte. Ben prefers allegories, and in this case he mockingly thinks himself an Aphrodite, helplessly enthralled by this Adonis before him. Admittedly, few people would pin the title of Adonis to Caleb, who more closely resembles an actual bear on days he does not trim his beard or do something about his hair, but to Ben he is stunning. Case in point: the spark in his eye. Further proof: the way Caleb smiles at him, like he perpetually has the tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth somewhere, poised to lick something. Ben's observations are odd, perhaps, but to catalogue everything about Caleb is to keep a bit of his cool demeanor, just for something to do. 

It further cements Caleb's lack of attainability as a straight guy. It can't be helped. Ben really wants to keep this friendship. So he occupies thoughts that might otherwise quickly be flipped to borderline inappropriate with methodical observation of every little tic Caleb has. 

And really it is worth it, is it not? If it means he gets to spend some of his evenings walking with Caleb, listening to him talk about crazy customers.

“Come on,” Ben goads, “Surely you have a top story for craziest occurrence?”

“Certainly,” Caleb grins, “But I don’t just go around telling my inner most thoughts for free, Tallboy. You’ve got to give me something for that.”

Ben has some trouble controlling his thoughts at that. He wonders why the proposal of a quid pro quo seems inherently sexual to the entirety of the world, and that keeps him far away from actually thinking about knowing Caleb carnally.

“I’m open to negotiations,” he retorts easily, after taking just a few beats to make sure he can breathe normally. Caleb looks away from him hastily, looking at the buildings that surround them from both sides, looming into the sky and seemingly going on forever.

“How’s about you buy me a round or two next time?”

“You don’t really drive a hard bargain here, Caleb,” Ben chides gently.

“I’m getting what I can out of the fact that you already know who my craziest customer was.”

“Not me, surely?” Ben furrows his brow.

“Definitely a toss-up between you, or Abe, when he talked my ear off about Mary and the twins. Though you were in the car for that, so I suppose it’s you either way,” he stops short and glances at Ben strangely, before he starts up again, muttering: “It’s always you, Tallmadge.”

Ben ignores the way those words make his heart skip a beat, and then dives right back into the thick of it: “Alright then, runner up? Penny for your thoughts? Or, should I say, two more rounds?”

“At this rate one would be inclined to think you’ve got a fixed interest in my intoxication,” Caleb laughs. It’s a wonderful laugh.

+

He finds himself at the bar with Caleb and Abe two weeks later. They’ve actually managed to get a sitter for the night, but Mary decided she wanted to join Anna out dancing, so they disappeared half an hour ago. About half an hour ago was exactly when Abraham waggled his eyebrows and decided to try out a new game he claimed to have invented, christened: ‘Shot Approximation.’ In which the person who has most recently done whatever activity named must take a shot.

“The last time I masturbated was exactly 9 days ago.” Ben doubts that a little – he knew Abraham in high school – but he doesn’t call him out on it. It isn’t like he could prove it.

“Last night,” Caleb says, already reaching for his shot glass.

“Me too though, so…” Ben furrows his brow.

“Somewhere around midnight for me,” Caleb continues, and now Ben definitely can’t stop thinking about Caleb with his hand on himself. Where does he do it? The shower? He looks like perhaps he’d do it in the shower. Caleb always talks about how much he loves the water.

“Yeah, this round is yours, probably closer to nine pm for me.”

Caleb bites the inside of his cheek, looking at Ben in that strange manner again, and then taking a shot. (How, Ben wonders, does someone provocatively take a shot? The muscles of Caleb’s throat have been extensively catalogued and they still fascinate him.)

“The last time I had sex was 7 weeks ago,” Caleb says, scratching his beard. “Yeah, it’s been a while, I’ll freely admit it. Just means one of you has to drink more, I can exploit that.” (The game had started out, like all drinking games do, with innocent questions, such as ‘the last time I drank beer was…’, ‘the last time I watched the Lion King was…’, ‘The last time I read a book was…’ and has since devolved into purely sexual questions.)

“Three weeks for me,” Abraham says, “Babies keep you too busy to do the do, we’re lucky if we get a good night’s sleep in.”

“This round is still yours,” Ben bites his lip, unwilling to divulge how, once more, it has been almost unbearably long for him.

“Bullshit,” Abe and Caleb snort at the same time, before Abe jinxes Caleb and immediately releases him under the threat of no more beer. (Caleb is buying for Abe, tonight, to be generous.)

“I haven't hooked up with anybody since the last time Bradford was in town, so, yeah, I'm a lonely, sexually-frustrated single if there ever was one, now that my bedmate has disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Caleb and Abe are both suspiciously quiet for a second, and then Abraham takes the shot.

“I see a solution to that sitting right in front of me,” Abe grins, scheming like the schemer he is. 

"Don't be ridiculous, Abe," Ben dismisses, hoping against hope that his cheeks aren't as visibly red as they feel. All he ever seems to do around Caleb is blush. "Caleb is straight."

"I am so _not_ straight." Caleb stares at his drink, insistently, after having cleared his throat when he choked on said drink. Ben's whole world comes to an abrupt halt. 

Caleb is not straight.

"Caleb," Ben finds his voice again after too many minutes pass with him just staring at a man suddenly refusing to meet his eyes. At the mention of his name, Caleb tenses, but makes no response. "This is definitely bad etiquette and I'll apologize for it later, but would you care to join me outside for a second?"

He observes Caleb take a deep breath, and then Caleb nods, getting up and disappearing. Ben has to take a few seconds to steel his nerves, which seem to have completely failed him at exactly the worst moment possible. Caleb is not straight.

Abraham stares at Ben like he just suggested that Dick Cheney might not have made money off the Iraq War. 

"Honey," he shakes his head, "You are _so_ dumb."

Ben glares and goes to follow after Caleb, finding him leaning against the brick wall in the alley. The smell of dumpsters nearby is a little off-putting, but this is more important. In fact, Ben would likely consider it the most important mission of his life. He stares, he can't help it. He can't ever help it, with Caleb. Not straight. Not straight. How did Ben never think to ask?

"So," Ben begins, trying for a conversational tone, "I've been wanting to slam you against a wall and impale myself on your cock since the first time I fastened my seatbelt in your cab. Is that something we can do right away or do you normally wait until after a few dates?"

"I can't _believe_ you thought I was straight," Caleb looks up at the sky beseechingly, ignoring him entirely. Ben would almost despair that his words didn't matter to Caleb anymore, if not for the obvious way that Caleb shifts, pulling at his pants a little. There is hope. 

"You kept talking about dates...with women," Ben sighs.  

"While also repeatedly telling you how gorgeous you are and fucking telling you I'd be fucking flattered if you flirted with me. I said you were stunning the first _ever_ time we met."

"And when I tried to kiss you, you pulled away. I had my hand on your cheek Caleb, I was pulling you in by the fucking neck. A person doesn't do that if they aren't planning on kissing you. That's pretty much the law. How much more obvious could I have been?"

"You were with that Bradford guy," Caleb crosses his arms. "I wasn't about to wreck that. He's so put together. He's so tall and perfect and the two of you probably look like a modern day Apollo and Hyacinth whenever he fucks you."

"Oh my god," Ben yells, "I am _so_ certain I exclusively referred to him as  _my friend_."

"That's a euphemism if ever I heard one," Caleb defends readily, crossing his arms but no longer managing to convincingly look annoyed. 

"Caleb," Ben begins anew, "I shouldn't have assumed. I'm sorry. I'm usually much smarter than that."

"I shouldn't have assumed either," Caleb says evenly, after a while, but pointedly foregoes issuing an actual apology. Well then, if he's going to be like that. 

"I'm going to try and kiss you in a minute," Ben decides then. "If you're going to back out at the last second again, do let me know beforehand this time, alright? I’m not certain I can take that twice."

Caleb nods at him, licking his lips in anticipation. 

Ah, fuck waiting, Ben decides, and brings his lips down to meet Caleb's swiftly. It tastes like beer, mostly. There must be something deeper buried beneath that flavor though, something uniquely Caleb Brewster. Ben starts a quest to discover what Caleb tastes like, pure and undisguised. Step one means getting rid of the overlaying beer notes. He swipes his tongue along the seam of Caleb's lips, and Caleb opens for him beautifully. Ben has a goal in mind though. Step two means meeting Caleb's tongue and probing it with his own. More hints of beer. Caleb breathes out harshly through his nose when Ben backs him fully into the alley wall. Step three: teasing Caleb's teeth, though no taste of beer lingers there so he stays on that path of his exploration solely because Caleb moans and it is the most beautiful sound Ben has ever heard. 

Again, he wants to demand, only to realize he cannot speak while his tongue is in someone else's mouth. It turns into a vague noise of encouragement instead as he commences step four, the roof of Caleb's mouth. Here he finds a trace of something that could be just what he is looking for. Caleb has started an exploration of his own, more tactile than lead by taste, running his hands across Ben's entire torso and coming to rest on his ass, squeezing and groping it with abandon. 

Ben is almost disappointed when he has to draw back for a second to breathe, because all he can do is groan as Caleb's hand teases something between his cheeks. There is fabric yet dividing them, but he feels the intensity of the touch nonetheless. He dives back in, still chasing Caleb's flavor but repeatedly being distracted to a point where he has to get his hands on somewhere that isn't Caleb's face, settling instead on his chest and beginning a parallel study of the greatness of Caleb's pectorals. So many things to discover, so much to do to Caleb. His catalogue will be filled to the brim by the time they’re done.

"Christ," Caleb gasps when now he initiates a break for air, "For a second there I thought you weren't going to touch me at all, and then me coming in my pants would have been even more embarrassing."

Ben looks down, to find Caleb still fully erect, and meets his eyes, dubiously.

"I got distracted by your taste."

"Fuck, that's hot."

"You didn't come," Ben points out, both disappointed and glad that things need not come to a stop just yet. 

"Could have, Benny, definitely could have. Feel like making all my dreams come true by actually helpin' me out with that?"

"You haven't answered my question about the dates," Ben pouts. "I want to do right by you."

"Ordinarily I'm not a first-date guy, but we've been on just about thirty-five of them over the past eighteen months, by my count. This is the slowest courting period I've ever had."

"I wasn't aware you considered them dates," Ben nips at Caleb's lower lip. 

"Didn't you?"

"I thought you were straight, that would have been disgusting behavior. I would have liked to consider them dates though. I am retroactively declaring them dates."

"Good. Now, about my dreams and you making them come true?"

"I will hasten to comply, you need only tell me what you want."

"Against the wall is a nice start, some friction down there would be even better," Caleb grins, lazily mouthing at Ben's neck, scraping his teeth just so once or twice. 

"I can do that," Ben breathes out, excitedly. He angles his right leg - thinking that their height difference comes in to great use here - so that it is propped up between Caleb's legs, and then he grabs the back of Caleb's left thigh and hoists it up around his hip. "How's this?" He asks, aiming for sultry. 

"Fucking excellent, if you'd only move," Caleb gasps, beginning to rub against him with unmatched zeal. Ben is certain that he has never witnessed anything so hot. Caleb's hands fist in his shirt, probably staining it from the dust that was gathering on the walls and wrinkling it for posterity, but Ben can't be assed to think about that right now. Not when this is fucking happening. This is really, actually happening. He has Caleb practically riding his thigh, his warm eyes closing in bliss repeatedly before he forces them open again and again, looking for all intents and purposes like he doesn't want to miss a thing of what is happening. 

"Kiss my neck," Caleb moans on a particularly nicely coordinated thrust on Ben's side, and his wish is Ben's command. One of Caleb's hand wanders to fist in Ben's hair as they hold onto one another, Ben almost lifting Caleb up. He wouldn't be able to manage it for so long without the wall to support him, but they do have the wall, so Ben makes use of it. 

"I want to fuck myself on your fingers," Caleb throws his head back, almost hitting the wall. Ben's teeth clamp down on his neck in shock and both of them moan. 

"You like that?" Ben wonders, not meaning to drop a line so cliché but genuinely asking because the request in unexpected. 

"Are you criticizing my fantasies?"

"No, I would never, you just surprised me, is all," Ben immediately rectifies, and brings a hand up to his mouth to suck two fingers in diligently, coating them thoroughly with spit while Caleb stares, eyes ablaze. He feels Caleb twitch against him. His pants give way easily, Caleb's dressed casually in sweatpants tonight – even while they are out for drinks, Caleb doesn’t care much for conventional dress codes – and with little to guide him Ben still manages to find his hole swiftly. Desire is a powerful motivator indeed. He circles a digit around the tight ring of muscle and then presses in just as he rocks his hips forward against Caleb. It has the desired effect of various expletives dropping from Caleb's wonderful tongue, curling deliciously behind Ben's ear before it aids Caleb's lips with the task of sucking on his skin. 

"How do you feel about marks?" Caleb takes the time out of his moans to pant out the question. Christ, Caleb is loud and Ben loves it. 

"Mark me up, Caleb," Ben assures him and begins to thrust and pump his fingers in earnest. Why can't he find Caleb's damn prostate? Where the fuck is it? He adds the second finger after some contemplation and begins looking again. Caleb's still whispering filth to him when he isn't biting his neck almost-bloody, telling him just how good it feels. 

"I'm about to come, Tallboy, I'm about to ruin these sweatpants so hard. I'll have to borrow your jacket, for something to wrap around my waist so that the entire fucking bar doesn't see what you do to me. Unless you want them to see. They'll know what happened out here anyway, once we go back inside. Do you want them to see how crazy you make me? Do you want everyone to know how well you fuck me? Oh fuck- Alright, Benny, I'm there, I'm so fucking ready-"

"You can't, not yet," Ben blurts out, earning confused glances from Caleb and a questioning pause in erratic movement. "I haven't hit your prostate yet," Ben explains, sheepishly. 

"Do you make a rule of only letting your partners climax once you've given them a routine health check?"

"I want to make this good for you," Ben murmurs. 

"Did you not hear me just now?"

"Better, then," Ben amends, hoping his smile comes across as charming and not arrogant. Caleb rolls his eyes and kisses him, firmly. "You'll get there eventually, my prostate is notoriously hard to find, I've been told. Are you going to let me come? Cause, while I gotta admit - fuck, yes, do that again, - that there's definitely a time and place for edging, this ain't it. I'm too desperate. You've wound me up too tightly. The delay might actually make my nutsack explode."

"Oh dear," Ben grimaces at the image, "No, we don't want that. Let's get you off." 

Caleb resumes his frantic thrusting, as the air left between their mouths heats up and becomes increasingly insufficient as they merely pant at one another, both men dizzy with need and chasing every bit of friction, valued more than oxygen at this point. Temporary insanity, they'll call it later. But now isn't the time to think about it because Caleb is coming apart on top of him, clenching around his fingers and rutting into his leg. He holds onto Ben tightly as he rides it out, drawing it out for the longest possible time. They kiss, although, like this, Ben isn't sure this constitutes as kissing when it’s just them pressing their slack mouths against one another, too hazy to apply any form of pressure or technique.

"Wow." Caleb finally manages to get out as Ben withdraws his fingers, regretting any loss of contact, no matter how awkwardly his wrist ended up positioned in those last few moments by Caleb suddenly going slack on his long digits. He’ll put some ice on it later and call it a fantastic day.

"Yeah," Ben agrees, kissing Caleb's temple, completely out of sorts. He's still hard, for his part, but Caleb catches onto that after breathing heavily for a while. 

"Remind me to indulge one of your apparently many fantasies once I've had a restorative drink or five, alright? That's a promise to be fulfilled, but this is the best I can do after you've worn me out so fully," his hand snakes into Ben's jeans and tugs on him experimentally. 

"Can you still form words?" Ben breathes into the night between them. 

"You know me, Ben, I never shut up," Caleb laughs, beginning to stroke in a rhythm that belies his claims of bone-dead-tiredness. 

"Then keep fucking talking and we're right on track," Ben orders. And that, it seems, Caleb is very capable of. 

"Grip me tighter," Ben instructs, concentrating on feeling the movements and nothing else, lest he overthink what they just did in this alley. 

"Tighter?" Caleb wonders, and complies, "Anything else?" 

"You can- oh, lord- please, you can go faster, Caleb," he moans. Ben's very aware that when he moans he makes grotesquely high-pitched noises once he is so far gone he has trouble noticing how he behaves. This is one of those times. Caleb comments on that by whispering about how needy he sounds, how easy it would be for Caleb to just bend him over and fuck him against the wall, how he's gotten off to thinking about that so many times he can no longer keep count. Needless to say, Ben does not last long, despite the still slightly inadequate angle of Caleb's grip. He wants to say Caleb's name but chokes on it as the force of his orgasm keeps his breath away. 

 “Hm,” Caleb sounds pleased when he has slumped against him, dead to the world. That just happened. “I feel like we can legitimately go home now and not even say goodbye to Abraham, if we tell him that we can’t come back inside because I’m covered in semen.”

“The tab,” Ben reminds him, clarity returning to him eventually. “I’ll go settle it, and then you’re coming home with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you thought ~


End file.
